


Let's Go Steal a Snuggle

by Demenior



Category: Leverage
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eliot Spencer-centric, Gen, Napping, POV Eliot Spencer, Pre-OT3, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/pseuds/Demenior
Summary: Eliot's role on a team is the hitter. He comes in to make sure everyone else makes it out unscathed. And he's very good at it. He wants his team to know and trust that they're going to live when they're under his protection.He's never experienced people feeling safe, like this, around him before. People feel safe, physically, when they see him on the scene. But this quiet kind of safe? Eliot usually makes people feel the opposite. People don't like being near him.People don't just fall asleep on him.aka:5 Times The Team Fell Asleep on Eliot Spencer (+1 Time He Napped On Them)
Relationships: Eliot Spencer & Team Leverage
Comments: 29
Kudos: 214





	Let's Go Steal a Snuggle

**Author's Note:**

> I binged all of Leverage for the first time in like a month, had a desperate desire to see something like this, and then wrote it lmao. First time playing in this sandbox, so forgive me if I didn't get the characters quite right!
> 
> You may have seen the concept of this fic floating around on tumblr (the post REALLY blew up on me, lol) so if you're sitting here like 'hey i think i saw something about that?' then you are correct!! Here it is!! The soft napping fic!!!
> 
> I wrote, and tagged, the story as gen. It's intended to be gen, but absolutely with some strong hints/groundbase set for the ot3. Please read it in whatever way you want! Or even read in other pairings! Have fun!
> 
> Warnings: Nate's section deals heavily with him being an alcoholic, but it's not the /point/ of this fic so I didn't want to tag the fic with it. If that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip Nate's section entirely!
> 
> Also, I think it's par for course, but Eliot is A) overly paranoid and engages in weird habits that are only hinted at because of his paranoia, and B) also has a very "i'm more weapon than human" kind of worldview. Which... might be weird, but I feel like those are (should) be standard for the fandom, but just in case, I wanted to warn y'all that Eliot is defs a biased narrator, no matter how plainly he thinks he sees things!
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

**1\. Hardison**

* * *

The kid is smart, Eliot will give him that. He’s got so much going on in that big brain of his that sometimes it’s amazing he can walk through a door at all. Hell, if Eliot was even half as smart as Hardison, maybe Eliot would have been able to make something of himself that didn't involve throwing himself in front of knives and loaded guns. Wouldn’t be as much fun, but would probably increase his life expectancy a considerable amount. 

In any case, for all that Hardison is smart, he's still an idiot. And at this moment he's the idiot who's been up for over 48 hours drinking nothing but his orange crap and eating sugary, gummy even _worse_ crap. At this point Eliot thinks it's just to spite him.

In fact, he’s sure it’s to spite him because he's been warning Hardison about it since hour 32. With proper nutrition, or, hell, even nothing, Eliot's lasted longer without sleep. But not on a diet of pure sugar. 

So Eliot's been hanging out, waiting for Hardison to eat his words. Which should be any time now. Hardison has recently gone quite, which is a big change from how he normally never shuts up. He’s heading into the endgame, refusing to admit he’s crashing, and still snacking on his stupid gummy shit. And he's focused on his laptop so Eliot's been messing around with the TV's in the office. Which is also Nate’s home. Or at least, the place that Nate sleeps upstairs when he can make it up the stairs. 

So far Eliot’s figured out volume, which remote connects to which screen, and how to get to ESPN on the far left. It's unfortunate he's sitting on the far right end of the couch, but, he's sure he'll get the other screens to line up eventually. Why are there only two remotes for like nine TV’s? What kind of useless system is this?

Hardison swaps his display over to the big screens, possibly because he's mad that Eliot ruined his calibration or something else nerdy and annoying, and he joins Eliot on the couch. Eliot hisses a ‘dammit’ as this interrupts the game he was watching, and the screens are filled with a long list of information. 

Rather than sit at the other end of the couch, Hardison sits down close to Eliot. Eliot gives him a sideways glare, unsure what he may be planning. People, especially people who know what Eliot does, like to keep distance between him and them. That’s the smart thing to do, and Hardison is smart. But Hardison’s eyes look bloodshot, and his hands are shaking like he’s cold. He’ll be crashing soon. His brain isn’t functioning right. That explains it. 

"Now we're looking for discrepancies," Hardison says, because now they're a 'we' and Eliot has no say in the matter. Despite wanting to see Hardison through to the end of his sugar crash, just to rub it in his face that Eliot was right, Eliot is now resisting the urge to abandon Hardison because they have to go through the most mundane and boring accounts that Eliot's ever had the misfortune of looking at. But a job's a job, so Eliot throws an arm up over the back of the couch and settles in. Hardison’s probably too tired to read. That’s why he wants Eliot’s help. 

Eliot’s focused on the job, on getting it done, right up until Hardison drops sideways into Eliot's shoulder. Eliot freezes. Hardison is playing a joke on him. Like he does when he pushes into Eliot's personal space like he has no idea of how easy it would be for Eliot to kill him. This is Hardison thinking he’s being funny. 

“Hardison,” Eliot growls, and tries to shrug him off. 

But Hardison doesn't move. Eliot’s movement shifts him, and now Hardison’s cheek is up against Eliot’s collarbone. His mouth is open, he’s probably going to drool. He looks incredibly uncomfortable and like he's going to wake up with his back bent into a new shape, and he… he's actually sleeping. He fell asleep beside Eliot. On Eliot. 

Eliot's role on a team is the hitter. He comes in to make sure everyone else makes it out unscathed. And he's very good at it. He wants his team to know and trust that they're going to live when they're under his protection.

He's never experienced people feeling safe, like this, around him before. People feel safe, physically, when they see him on the scene. But this quiet kind of safe? Eliot usually makes people feel the opposite. People don't like being near him. People don't sit so close to him, when there's a whole room to sit in and a whole couch to sit on, that when they fall asleep because they're on a predestined crash from a sugar high that they fall right into him. 

Now what? 

Should he… wake him up? He looks uncomfortable. Should Eliot move him? If he wakes Hardison up, Hardison will get back to work. And he clearly needs the rest. 

There's more documents to go through. Eliot's not smart, not like Hardison is smart, but he can read just fine. 

He finds the remote (now there are three? Why do they need _three_?) in Hardison's hand and continues their research. Hardison mumbles something– of course he talks in his sleep, the kid is impossible to shut up– and nuzzles his cheek into Eliot's chest as he gets comfortable. 

"Don't drool on me, man," Eliot tells him. 

Just to spite him, Hardison does. 

* * *

**2\. Parker**

* * *

Eliot plants himself on the couch and doesn't intend to move for a few hours.

"It's game time, baby!" Hardison cheers as he drops onto the couch. He's got one end, Nate's taken the other, and Eliot is appropriately in the middle. They've got snacks, beer, and a Sunday afternoon to watch the Seahawks and the Rams go at it. 

Eliot never thought he'd be a Seahawks man, and he's still not, not really. But living in the PNW means enjoying the energy of the fans, and boy, the fans have some energy here. 

None of them have any big ties to any of the teams– Hardison and Nate are both more east coast than west, and Eliot can't decide if he's ready to pick up the memories that come with old loyalties or if it's time to make some new roots. 

Time flies easy. Hardison doesn't talk too much dumb shit, Nate doesn't play any mind games. It's pretty pleasant.

Until Parker drops out of the goddamn roof.

Fast movement coming down at his head, and Eliot nearly springs into an uppercut. It's Parker's giggling, hitting him an instant before his reflexes do, that stops him. He debates evading, but by that point she's on him.

Quite literally _on_ him. 

"Parker," Eliot growls. 

She comes dangerously close to kneeing him in the groin as she unhooks herself from her grappling gear. 

"For gods sake!" Hardison shouts, clutching at his heart, "how long have you been up there?"

"Long enough," Parker shrugs, "sports are boring. I'm tired."

"Parker," Eliot growls again. He holds his beer away from her so she doesn't slap it out of his hand with her flailing limbs.

Parker finally climbs off of him, and drops down into the space between him and Hardison. She's still too close, leaning into his ribs, angled into him. 

Knowing Parker she's about to launch off, use him as a springboard to leap over the couch. Nate wisely grabs the bowl of popcorn to save it from being kicked over. 

Parker moves down, dropping her shoulder into Eliot's hip with no regard for how bony her shoulders are. 

She lays down, practically curled in a ball, and sets her head on Eliot's lap, facing him. Eliot goes completely still.

"Parker!" Eliot snaps through gritted teeth.

"Hardison did it!" She explains, and shuts her eyes tight, as if she can pretend to be asleep and he'll buy it. 

"I did– I did _not_ cozy up like that!" Hardison protests, though it falls on deaf ears. It's been a few weeks since he fell asleep on Eliot, but the whole team had wandered in and out of the room over the hours he slept. Eliot made sure they hadn't woken him up until they needed him. He was watching out for his team. It’s his job. 

"I've never done it. So I wanna try it," Parker whines, and doesn't move. She cracks an eye open, looking up at Eliot, "please?"

Eliot's mouth feels dry. It's the same kind of confusing response he had when Hardison had curled into him, like he felt comforted by Eliot being there. 

"'m watching the game," he gestures weakly at the tv. He hasn't paid attention to it since she landed on him. He's not even sure if Nate or Hardison are watching still, or if they're focused on Parker. 

"I like the noise," Parker says, and closes her eyes. And then she– she _snuggles_ into him. Eliot sucks in a very calm, controlled breath and sips his beer to give himself something to focus on. 

He uses the moment to survey the room. Nate is pointedly not looking at them, watching the game. Hardison is facing forwards, but his eyes dart to Parker while he thinks Eliot isn't looking. 

Which is fair. Parker isn't fond of contact, or people in general. This is a completely new behavior for her. Which could mean she's trying to say something, and because she's Parker, it's being expressed in some form of language that no one else knows how to speak yet. Or she's just being, well, Parker. And they have no way of knowing what goes on in her brain.

Eliot's not a fan of the look on Hardison's face, though. The kid is thinking. And Eliot can guess where his mind is going.

Eliot has no rules against sleeping with coworkers. What happens, happens. But Hardison is young, inexperienced, and has shown some interest in Parker. Eliot's not looking to get into some macho competition. He'll have to make it clear that whatever Parker is trying to say, it's not _that_. Or at least, that Eliot's not interested in getting into a competition. 

Accepting his fate, Eliot settles in, and without anywhere to rest his one arm, he throws it over the back of the couch rather than try and fit it around Parker. Parker wiggles a bit, adjusting with him, and already he can feel the heat of her body through his jeans. And then… she's asleep. Just like that. He can feel the shift in her weight as she goes boneless. 

That's two teammates in a matter of weeks who have sought him out for… for whatever this is. Safety? Security? Outside of a job? Either he's doing his job very well, in that he makes them associate him with protection. Or he's not doing his job well enough, and these people don't understand that they should be wary of him. 

The Seahawks make a touchdown and Hardison cheers. Eliot makes a point not to move, as that could wake Parker up. Maybe she's been feeling stressed, and not sleeping. Or maybe she's lonely and this is her way of reaching out. 

In any case, she wouldn't ask this of him if she didn't need it. 

She shifts slightly, head turning away from his body and hand coming up like she's stretching. Eliot can tell she's still asleep, but also becomes acutely aware that her hand is dangerously close to the wallet in his pocket. 

Going for a lift, even in her sleep. That's almost charming. Mostly weird, but kind of charming. 

"Popcorn?" Nate asks, holding out the bowl. Acting like this is normal. 

Eliot wants to know what kind of assessments Nate's running on them, on him, right now. 

"Yeah, and another beer, if you don't mind," Eliot says. They haven't yet hit halftime, and who knows how long Parker's going to sleep for. Eliot's not going anywhere for a while. 

* * *

**3\. Sophie**

* * *

Eliot has always found airplanes to be cold. No matter the destination, he always gets a chill in the middle of the flight, so he makes sure to bring an extra sweater with him. He’s debating pulling it out. 

"I swear to God," Sophie hisses, dropping into the empty seat beside Eliot. Hardison had booked it empty so "Eliot could have brooding space". Eliot thinks it's because of this– so there’s somewhere to run to if there was any personal trouble on this flight back to America. 

"How can one man be so intelligent and so stupid?" Sophie finishes.

Eliot wordlessly holds out the beer he's been sipping for her. Sophie wrinkles her nose, and flags down the stewardess instead.

"I want whiskey– no, two each. Please. Keep the bottle handy."

Eliot takes a swig of his beer. He'll have to finish it before the drinks get back. 

Sophie takes his silence as some sort of answer, "He's constantly shutting me down, ignoring or outright mocking my suggestions, and he thinks he's doing something good for me! I mean, since when have I ever implied that I like any of that?" 

Their whiskeys are delivered, and Eliot finishes off his beer and exchanges it with the stewardess. 

"You're tough, and practical," Sophie says, "we're very similar in those regards. So, what do you think I should do?"

Eliot almost laughs at the idea of him and Sophie having anything in common. 

"First thing," he says, "I don't do relationships."

She throws her head back, laughing, "Oh, darling, neither do I." 

* * *

A few drinks later and they’re still laughing. Sophie’s kicked off her shoes, and they’ve been working through a long list of things they agree on. She has good advice on hair products for him to switch to, he pairs foods to some of her favorite wines. They agree to go for a dinner together, away from people who think chicken fingers are a menu staple. It’s a relief to talk to someone with good taste. 

Sophie glances up, whispers, “Shite!” and then drops her head onto Eliot’s shoulder. 

Eliot’s been pushed into the aisle seat so she could look out the window, so that’s all the warning he gets before he looks up and spies Nate making his way towards them. 

Eliot pretends not to have seen him, but it’s an obvious movement. 

“You don’t sleep on planes. He won’t buy it,” he says quietly to Sophie. In fact, she doesn’t sleep anywhere that isn’t her designated bed. Which has been a problem on a few jobs when they had to do things overnight, and Eliot wanted to keep the team together to make it easier on him to protect them. 

“I do when I feel safe. Now sell it,” Sophie whispers back. 

And then Nate is upon them. 

“Hey, is uh– oh, Sophie?” Nate asks. He bypasses Eliot completely to address the woman who is _not_ sleeping on Eliot’s shoulder. 

“We, uh,” Eliot holds up his rocks glass to show the booze he still has left to finish, “we may have celebrated too hard.”

Nate scowls, because he can tell that Sophie isn’t asleep, just as he can tell that Eliot’s lying to him. But if he asks why, he’s going to get an honest answer, and does he really want to take up that fight right now? 

Sophie pinches his side, out of Nate’s line of sight. Eliot maintains perfectly calm control of himself. 

“Let the woman get some beauty sleep,” Eliot pushes, and wonders if it’s too far to make a joke about that in retaliation for the pinch. But then again, he knows better than to talk about a lady like that. 

“I’ll let her know you were coming to apologize,” Eliot adds, ending the conversation. 

Nate’s scowl deepens, and Eliot sees genuine confusion on his face. He looks from Eliot, to Sophie, to Eliot again. Eliot gives him a small wave of the fingers, careful not to move and bother Sophie. 

“Alright,” Nate agrees, and shuffles back to his seat further up. 

Eliot waits until Nate has sat down before he shrugs Sophie off his shoulder. 

“That’s really the best you could do?” he demands. 

“You’re very comfy,” Sophie says in astonishment. 

“Now I’m involved in this thing you and Nate have going on,” Eliot continues. 

“Such broad shoulders,” Sophie purrs, and takes hold of his arm with both hands so she can pull herself against him and rest her head on his shoulder again. 

“Stop it,” Eliot grumbles. 

“We’ve committed to the grift,” Sophie tells him, “now we have to sell it.”

“I don’t have to sell anything,” Eliot reminds her. 

She smiles, while keeping her eyes closed because she is the worst actress when the stakes aren’t real, “Thank you, Eliot.” 

She stops responding to him when he pesters her to wake up, and then she’s quiet and heavy like she really _is_ asleep. And now Eliot can’t tell if she’s faking or if she is actually asleep. 

The cabin is always a little too cold for Eliot. He wonders if Sophie feels the same, so he takes his extra sweater and carefully puts it over her. The job will be done once they get home, so until then, he’s still responsible for taking care of his team. 

Eliot relaxes back into his chair, careful not to dislodge Sophie. Her hair smells nice. 

* * *

**4\. Nate**

* * *

Eliot keeps his guard up.

The bar is _almost_ quiet. It's 4am on Christmas Day and Nate is still staggering around the bar. 

Eliot dropped in last night and the bar was busy. He didn't mention how he was trying to go home, made it to his dad’s driveway before realizing he wasn’t ready, and turned back to Portland. How he knew Nate would be missing his son. How Eliot wants to skirt the depth of that pain, to take the edge off it, without delving in. He knew he wouldn't be the only one.

So, the bar was busy at night. Lots of old men without families out looking to forget their solitude. Young kids, unable to go home and searching for company. Travellers, vagabonds, criminals and everyone in between. 

Eliot retired early, while the bar was still loud and full of drunken cheer. He took a spot on Nate's couch, great vantage of the door, and let the muffled sound of people singing and shouting lull him to sleep. 

And now Eliot wakes with the dawn, and immediately knows something is wrong. Nate hasn't come in that door yet.

He gets up, declines threading the belt on the jeans he slept in, and shoves his bare feet into his boots. It's bold to go so undressed into an unknown scenario, but, it _is_ Christmas Day. Even the really bad guys take a break on Christmas Day. Eliot would know. 

It's dawn on Christmas Day and Nate is still staggering around the bar. A couple of men are passed out in a booth. Looks like they were running some sloppy form of a poker game. It's sloppy because half the chips are on the floor, and no one has the correct amount of cards. Used glasses cover any available surface, many of them still full. 

Big party, Eliot figures. 

Nate knocks three glasses off the bartop as he attempts to pour another drink. 

"Eliot!" He shouts.

"You have fun?" Eliot asks.

Nate's whole body shakes with barely-restrained energy. He looks as neurotic as Eliot's ever seen him.

"Listen, listen," and Nate clings to the bartop as he crawls around the bar to greet Eliot. He trudges through broken glass, and the way it crunches let's Eliot know he's wearing shoes. Small mercies. 

Eliot waits, and looks around again. Everyone looks like they’re breathing. He’s been down long enough now to smell that someone threw up at some point last night. They'll need to hire someone to come clean up. Though, considering it’s Christmas Day, finding anyone will be a challenge. Eliot might have to clean it himself. 

Nate’s lost his train of thought, and Eliot’s more surprised that he had one at all. 

“Go have a shower,” Eliot says, and starts making rounds. Two older men, regulars, maybe, that are sleeping in a booth. They drank enough to fall asleep, but no signs of poisoning. No one in the bathrooms, but it’s disgusting in there. 

Eliot leaves Nate to go to the supply closet and get the broom and glass pan. He takes a minute to check the safe in the office– the bar float got put away properly. Looks like Nate hadn’t come to use it as part of the poker pool. That’s a relief. 

“No, no,” Nate pleads when Eliot returns with the broom, “can’t you see we– we’re busy.” 

“You’re not,” Eliot informs him. He pushes past Nate, still holding the bar to stay standing, so he can sweep up the broken glass. He’s glad he wore his boots. The floor is sticky, and it makes getting all of the glass pieces difficult. He dumps everything he can get in the broken glass bin behind the bar. 

The staff must have cleaned up as much as they could, as the dishwasher behind the bar is empty, but Nate and his crew have undone all of those efforts.

“We’re having fun,” Nate insists. He pouts, like Eliot is being mean. Eliot considers asking if Nate even knows the names of the two men who are passed out, and decides that that's not the fight he wants to have right now.

“Party’s over,” Eliot says instead. He finds two clean glasses and takes them and the pitcher of water to the table with the two sleeping men. His best guess is that these guys have nowhere better to go. They can finish their uncomfortable sleep and see themselves out. 

“Let’s go,” Eliot orders. 

Nate’s pout turns sour, “You’re not my fucking dad,” he snaps. 

Eliot resists the urge to roll his eyes. A mean drunk, how original. Normally on a job Eliot would hold his tongue when Nate gets mean, and count down the hours until Nate let him off his leash to vent any aggression. You don’t challenge the leader until the job is over, or else everything goes to hell. 

But they're not on a job right now. 

“No,” Eliot agrees, “I'm just the guy who has to clean this up.” 

“Fuck you,” Nate hisses, “I– I didn’t ask you to. Did– did Sophie? Did she tell you to come pity me?” 

“No,” Eliot says, “no one told me to do anything. Now let’s go to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Nate protests, and reaches out to grab the bottle of– scotch? Rum? It reeks in here, Eliot has no idea what Nate’s drinking straight, and he fills up his glass. 

“Besides, it’s Chris– chris– christmas,” Nate remarks, “and this is my gift to me.” 

“I’m not taking you to get your stomach pumped,” Eliot says, “so let’s sober up. I’ll cook breakfast, if you want.” 

“No,” Nate says, and he holds out his glass to Eliot. It sloshes over his fingers, “come have a drink. We’re friends, yeah? We can have a drink together. Fucking alone on Christmas, you and me. We don't have anyone.” 

“It’s like five in the morning,” Eliot groans, “I’m not having a drink–” 

Nate throws the glass at him. It’s such a slow movement, and poorly coordinated, that Eliot doesn’t even have to dodge it. The glass breaks and splatters over the bottom of Eliot’s jeans. 

“You think you’re so much better!” Nate shouts, pointing a finger at him, “you think you’re so good, because you don’t need anyone! You don't care about anyone! Well I know, I know the kind of things you do– what you do– because you’re _not_ better than me–” 

Eliot sidesteps the broken glass and gets into Nate’s space in three strides. He grabs Nate by the front of the shirt, pushing him back into the bartop. 

“You really want to pick a fight right now?” he growls. Nate still tries to shove him off. He's sloppy and clumsy. 

Eliot lets him go with a rough shove, and Nate drops like dead weight. Only afterwards does Eliot think maybe he shouldn't have done that. If Nate hit his head because he's too incoherent to catch himself, that would be annoying.

“Fuck you!” Nate shouts again, and then doubles over and throws up. 

Eliot has a lot of respect for the things Nate can do. The whole team has unique talents, and they’re the best at what they do, but what Nate does… to hold so many variables, to know how to utilize skills and people the way he does, well, impressive is too humble a word for it. 

It's sad to see a man so powerful be so broken. For a moment Eliot's reminded of a fantasy he used to have, of imagining his dad crying in his absence, and regretting the things he said. 

Those were early years, before Eliot learned enough to know his father was right. 

Eliot grabs Nate by the back of his shirt when he’s done throwing up, and tries to drag him upright. But now that he’s down, Nate seems to be down for the count, and his whole body is limp. 

Eliot crouches down beside him, throws Nate’s arm over his shoulders, and growls, “Don’t throw up on me.”

He heaves Nate into a firemans carry over his shoulders, and takes him upstairs. 

* * *

Nate throws up on him, despite Eliot explicitly telling him not to, and then proceeds to pass out. Eliot forces him to throw up again in the toilet, and Nate slurs incoherent protests at him. Eliot considers making the shower pleasant, but decides he wants to be a dick since Nate is also being a dick. So he sets it to cold and drags Nate in and sits them both down in the spray with their clothes on. Merry Christmas indeed. 

* * *

Bedside manner is not Eliot’s forte, and Nate's only half present at best, so Eliot keeps things quick and efficient. He strips them both, gets dressed in a spare undershirt and some boxers, and while Nate would prefer to be unconscious, he can be roused enough to get on a pair of sweats. 

Eliot can’t be bothered to try and drag Nate up that stupid spiral staircase to his bed, so he sets Nate up on the couch with his head hanging over the edge and into the garbage bin. Eliot will catch a bit more sleep in the armchair, and be close enough to help should anything go wrong. 

“Where– what?” Nate asks, looking around. He tries to push himself upright.

“We’re home,” Eliot says, and shrugs off the lie because this sure isn’t _his_ home, “I’m gonna make sure you don’t die.” Which is dramatic. A drunk like Nate? Eliot’s pretty sure he’ll be fine. 

He's firm, but tries to be soft, when he pushes Nate down. Nate's heart is racing, and his whole body is shaking. Suddenly the light blanket Eliot covered him with doesn't feel like it's enough. Nate grabs Eliot's wrist and doesn't let go.

"Cold," Nate whines. As if he's reading Eliot's mind. 

"You'll be fine," Eliot says, and tries to pull away. Nate doesn't let him.

"I– I have to go," Nate declares, and tries to get upright. 

"Fuck," Eliot growls, and he has to jump on Nate to pin him down, "just– where you gonna go, huh?"

Nate is boneless enough to make it difficult to pin him, so Eliot ends up getting Nate into a full body hold. He's leaning back against the arm of the couch, Nate between his legs. Eliot's got one leg over Nate's hip and both his arms around Nate to pin his arms down. This puts Nate's head against Eliot's chest when Nate gives up and slumps against him. 

"I want to go home," Nate whines.

"You are home," Eliot reminds him. He has a feeling that's a lie as well. 

“Home? No, no, this isn’t–” and Nate cuts himself off as he sucks in a ragged sob. 

Eliot waits him out. Nate doesn’t think of this as home, which means he’s thinking about a home from _before_. 

Eliot pointedly does not think about little hardware stores, about spending a quiet Christmas day having a beer and playing cards. Things that he’s never had. 

“I should be buying him a bike,” Nate whimpers, “a puppy. He wanted a puppy, but I travelled, and it was too much work and I didn’t want the hair but he'd be old enough to handle it now and–”

Nate breaks off and starts crying. Eliot can’t do much but hold him, resting his head on top of Nate’s. What do you say? What is there to say?

Nate hasn't released his hold on Eliot's arm. He digs his fingers into Eliot's skin, as if he can force Eliot to stay. It’s not an apology, it’s not a plea. 

“And now we’re all alone,” Nate says, and Eliot doesn’t know if he’s talking about the two of them here, the team, or his old life with a wife and a son, “now there’s– now there’s no one.”

"I'm here," Eliot tries, but he doesn't think it's much of a comfort. 

"You're here," Nate agrees, and it sounds like a revelation, “thank you.” 

They both fall silent. Eliot thinks Nate's fallen asleep, until Nate starts mumbling words. He turns his head, almost nuzzling into Eliot, as he babbles. Eliot says nothing more. Nate’s fingers dig painfully into Eliot’s arms. 

Eliot holds him until Nate passes out, cheek pressed to Eliot's chest, and mouth open as he snores. 

Kindness, caring for someone like this, isn't something Eliot is used to. He's in the business of providing the exact opposite of safety, to anyone who gets in his way. But Nate finds comfort in his presence, in having Eliot nearby, and there's something Eliot likes about how that feels. 

Nate has a lot of flaws, but he can also bring new things out of Eliot. This gentleness is one of them. 

Eliot could leave, he could slip away from Nate and go about his day. He doesn't. He tucks Nate and himself in, under the blanket, and stands guard. 

* * *

**5\. Hardison & Parker**

* * *

Eliot wants to be anywhere but here.

Reason number one: the van stinks.

“Lucille does _not_ stink,” Hardison whines. 

Eliot doesn’t bother responding. They’ve spent the last hour having the same argument. 

The three of them have been inside, coming up on six hours now. They’ve been pulling long shifts over the last few days, getting all the surveillance they can. Nate and Sophie are setting things up on their end. Eliot’s here to make sure Hardison and Parker don’t do anything reckless. 

He’s been trying to pass the time with Parker by teaching her how to play cards. It took three rounds before he figured out that she knows exactly what she’s doing, and was sharking him the whole time. It took another two rounds to realize that she actually _doesn’t_ know what she’s doing, and is just incredibly good at both card counting _and_ pulling aces out of her sleeves. Parker is proud of both skills, and Eliot’s wondering if it’s worth the trouble to take her out and put those skills to use. 

He thinks she’d find it fun. It’s not like either of them need the money, but the thrill of it would be reward enough. And considering that the time they tend to spend together is usually in relation to people getting hurt? Yeah, maybe he’ll look into a weekend away between jobs. Maybe Hardison will want a weekend off too? When should it change from being friendly to being a team thing? Since when did he want to socialize with these people outside of work? Since when did he want them to want him around? 

“Okay,” Hardison announces, “okay. So, considering it’s nighttime, and people aren’t coming and going all the time, I’ve set it up that we’ll get notified if there’s movement at the doors. So we don’t have to stare at the screens and watch nothing happen for a few more hours.” 

“Hours?” Parker groans, and she stretches out on the floor beside Eliot. She surprises them, and herself, when she yawns loudly. Hardison ends up mirroring the action. 

“Y’all should take a nap,” Eliot says, “I can handle this.” 

Really, he can. And they’re close enough that he can either wake them, or just drive the van away if there’s any trouble. 

“Wow, what a gentleman,” Hardison says dryly, and he comes to sit on the floor with them. And by them, Eliot means into the space between Eliot and the wall of the van that a grown man doesn't comfortably fit. The van, especially after being outfitted with their gear, was not made for three adults to crowd in together. Eliot was barely okay with Parker all up in his space, and now Hardison too? 

Hardison stretches his legs out, leaning into Eliot because there’s nowhere else to go, “So… should we play truth or dare?” 

“What are you, twelve?” Eliot scoffs. 

Sitting like this means all three of them can see the monitors, which is why Hardison must have squeezed himself in beside Eliot. It’s for the job. Eliot crosses his arms across his chest, because there's nowhere else to put them since he's crowded in. If they’re going to get some rest, Eliot will go sit in the chair. Give them space. 

“I’ll nap,” Parker says, and she rolls onto her side to put her head on Eliot’s leg, “Eliot’s comfy.” 

“Parker!” Eliot hisses, but he doesn’t flinch away because there’s nowhere to go and he doesn’t want to accidentally kick her. 

“You kind of are," Hardison admits.

Eliot turns to scowl at him, "Am not!"

And Hardison does this thing where he smiles and Eliot has the distinct notion that he's lost a fight he didn't know they were having. 

"But, hey, if you're offering," Hardison says, and drops his weight into Eliot, "I could use a catnap."

"I could use some quiet," Eliot grumbles. Hardison fakes a loud snore and Eliot's going to shove him into the wall. 

"Why don't you sleep?" Parker asks. She rolls onto her side, head still on his leg, and curls her fingers around Eliot's knee like she's not aware of what she's doing. Eliot's not sure why _he's_ so aware of her touch. He's wearing jeans. It's not like he can feel her hand, except he feels like he could recognize her fingerprints and maybe he's the one who needs sleep if he's thinking weird shit like that. 

"I sleep," Eliot says defensively. 

Parker shakes her head. Eliot can feel the movement, "We all sleep. On jobs, when it's quiet, everyone sleeps. But you don't."

"It's my job," Eliot says, and he's aware Hardison has gone quiet to listen to his answer, "if I'm sleeping, how can I protect you?" 

Parker looks up at him with her big eyes, her brain picking apart his words like she does locks. Will she find what she's looking for? Eliot's not even sure what he's hiding. Should he be hiding? If he doesn't know it, does he want it found?

"I’m glad you do," Hardison says, and it's gentle, honest. Eliot wishes he would say something sarcastic, something to fight against. Something to break the tension crawling up his spine. 

Hardison shifts his hips down so that he's closer to laying down, head resting on Eliot's hip, and almost mirroring Parker's position. Eliot's got his one knee pulled up, and it could be more comfortable for Hardison if he put his leg down, but that would be inviting… whatever this is. 

"Stop messing around," Eliot pleads. There's a punchline here. He just has to figure it out. People don't seek him out to let their guards down. People don't want him around unless they're in danger. 

"Thanks Eliot," Parker mumbles. And that would be fine, until she adds, "for making us safe."

 _It's my job_ , he wants to say. But that's not the right answer either. 

Eliot doesn't move. Parker falls asleep, head pillowed on his thigh, fingers warm through his jeans. Hardison winds up with his head leaned into Eliot's stomach. Eliot resists the urge to make him more comfortable, to encourage this kind of thing.

It's cramped. It's hot. The van smells. Eliot keeps an eye on the monitors. He keeps an eye on Hardison and Parker. He keeps them safe. It's his job. He's always been proud of doing a good job. He has a reputation to maintain out in the world. 

It's been a long time since Eliot's wanted specific people to be proud of him, to see that he's effective, and that he will be of useful service to them. 

It's something he's aware of, for where it can take him. What he'll do for people he wants to see him. 

What does it mean that he wants this? Whatever this is. This… Parker breathing gently, Hardison murmuring in his sleep. He wants them to feel safe with him. He wants to watch over them. He wants this peaceful relief, of being sought out.

He wants...

He can't say it. Not yet.

* * *

**+1**

* * *

Eliot’s fine. 

No, really, he is. He feels like he got hit with a harpoon gun, because he _did_ , but it was the gun itself, not the harpoon, so, all things considered, he’s fine. 

Having to fight six guys on a sinking boat and taking a swim to escape said boat when it was done sinking, wasn’t that great either. But hey, it wasn’t the Arctic Ocean, just _near_ the Arctic Ocean. Who’s counting?

Eliot’s fine. 

He can’t wait to get home, crawl under his bed, and sleep for a week. 

But he's fine. Really.

There’s the post-mission briefing to be done, and Eliot always waits until Nate dismisses him to consider his role officially over for the current job. If anyone gets hurt, it’ll be after Eliot’s off the job, or because he’s dead. 

So he’s in Nate’s apartment, with the rest of the team. He’s wearing a beanie, a big hoodie with no shirt underneath– because he sweat through his last one on the flight in and tossed it rather than deal with the stink– and his softest jeans with no belt. He’s practically in pajamas. He's dreading the drive home, just because he has to stay awake for that, and considering taking a taxi instead. 

* * *

Parker pops the champagne. Eliot thinks she asked him for a knife to do it, but he didn't respond so she did it the old fashioned way. Sophie is the one to hand him a glass.

"You're looking a little clammy," she comments.

Eliot makes a noise of agreement. He's fine, he just wants to sleep for three weeks. 

It's only when she reaches out to touch his face that he flinches away. He's got bruises there, not to mention he doesn't like people in his space. Especially after a job when he's a little more vulnerable. 

Sophie pulls her hand away, looking hard at him. He's probably been rude, which he tries not to be, especially to Sophie, but he doesn't have the energy to explain himself. 

She leaves him alone without another word, and maybe that's something to worry about. But it's something to worry about _later_. 

He avoids any further conversation by slipping away to the bathroom. He takes three more painkillers, and avoids looking at himself in the mirror. The quiet is tantalizing. In other scenarios Eliot might consider sleeping in the tub until someone comes to get him, but he has an image to maintain. Can't let the team see him be weak, or else they might hesitate in using him. And then they'll be dead. 

"Hey, Mr Cranky, get your ass out here," Hardison shouts, knocking on the door. 

Eliot doesn't know how much time has passed. He dumps his champagne, refills the glass with water, and heads out. 

They're congregated in the 'office'. It's also the living room. Eliot means to stand– less hassle getting up and down– but Parker comes up beside him and pulls him to sit with her on the couch. 

Eliot growls a protest, but it sounds pathetic even to him. Sitting down is a mistake, he knew it, but Parker still has his arm, and she tucks her feet up under herself to lean against him. 

She likes to get up in his business after a job. Eliot can't tell if she likes antagonizing him, if she's actually assessing his injuries (if so: she doesn't do anything about the information) or maybe a mix of both. 

Hardison drops in on his other side, way too close. There's a whole rest of the couch. 

"It's movie time!" Hardison says, "we're getting take-out, we're drinking, we might get more take-out!" 

Sophie relaxes into one of the armchairs. 

Eliot grumbles a protest. He's not staying for pleasantries. Not now. 

Parker doesn't let him up. 

Nate reappears, drink in hand, "So! Before we get celebrating– I just wanted to go through a few points."

Eliot almost groans. He's staying until Nate dismisses him. He just has to last a little bit longer. 

Hardison relaxes into the couch, putting an arm up over the back. Eliot's aware of the brush of Hardison's arm to the back of his head. Normally he’d sit forwards, lean away from the touch and invasion of his space, but Parker is holding him down and he’s just so tired, that Eliot lets his head fall back. He’ll wait Nate out, officially close the job, and then he’s gone. He should call a taxi now, because he can’t drive home. 

Nate’s talking. Hardison makes jokes. Sophie laughs. Parker is heavy against him, Hardison and her are warm, and Eliot didn’t realize he was so cold. And he closes his eyes, just for a second, because they weigh so much and… 

* * *

...Eliot feels like he got hit with a harpoon gun, because he _did_ , and now he also feels like he got hit by a truck. It’s a very distinct feeling, entirely unlike what it feels like to be hit by a car, or even a motorcycle. 

It’s hard to open his eyes, and as he tries to move he realizes he’s pinned, and he must have been captured. Who got to them? Who are their enemies?

“Whoa, hey, calm down, man,” Hardison says, practically in his ear. Eliot stops struggling against his restraints.

“Is he up?” and that… is that Sophie? She sounds so far away. Wasn’t she closer– where’s Nate? He was talking. Eliot forces his eyes open. His vision is blurry with sleep. The daylight has shifted. An unfamiliar movie is playing on the screens in front of him.

Eliot’s body is so heavy that he can’t keep his eyes open. He’s in a blanket. Parker is still covering him. She’s on the outside of the blanket, but she’s got a hand over Eliot’s stomach, and is leaning on him with all of her weight. He’s being pushed into Hardison, and now that he’s more aware, he can feel the slow rise and fall of Hardison’s chest against him. He fell asleep? 

Unprofessional. Embarrassing. He needs to go, to save face. He tries to sit up, but Parker keeps him pinned.

“Take it easy,” Hardison insists. Eliot feels Parker shift against him, bringing a leg up and over his so she’s basically spooning him. He’s aware now that lots of time must have passed. That he fell asleep in the team briefing, and that Hardison and Parker haven’t moved from their posts at his side. 

He can’t believe he was so weak. 

“Yeah he’s up, kinda,” Hardison calls over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. Are Sophie and Nate there? They talked earlier about getting food. Food must have come. They’ve all been here, together, while Eliot slept. So the whole team has been present for Eliot’s failing in his role. He and Nate will have to talk this out later. Eliot will have to beg to keep his position. Because he wants this job, future jobs, with this team. Even when he slips up like this, and lets them down. 

“You hungry? Or you can keep sleeping, it doesn’t matter,” Hardison tells him, “we’ve got you.”

He’s so warm, and Parker’s weight is grounding in the same way that sleeping under his bed makes him feel secure on all fronts. Eliot’s already in for a penny, and he knows he won’t make it home, so he might as well stay. He doesn’t respond to Hardison, but adjusts his body so his head is at less of an angle where he’s pretty sure he’s sleeping on Hardison’s shoulder. There, comfier. Especially with Parker draped over him. 

Eliot feels Hardison shift, feels the weight of the touch through his beanie. He knows, even without looking, that Hardison just kissed his head. Like you would comfort a child. Humiliating. 

Eliot growls unhappily. He doesn’t have it in him to do anything else. 

“He’s purring! He liked that,” Parker gasps. Hardison laughs, and Eliot can feel it vibrate right down to his ribs. Something feels like it shakes into place. He'll think about that later, when he wakes up.

Eliot’s fine. 

No, really, he is. 

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE shoutout to tumblr user pentapoda who drew some amazing art for this concept and inspired me to finish writing. [Click here to see the art!](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/post/622905673601220608) and be sure to give pentapoda lots of love!!!


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